Imatges de pÓgina

Dogb. Why, then depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never anfwer a calf when he bleats.

Verg. 'Tis very true.

Dogb. This is the end of the Charge: you, conftable, are to prefent the Prince's own perfon; if you meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him.

Verg. Nay, bi'rlady, that, I think, he cannot.

Dogb. Five fhillings to one on't with any man that knows the ftatues, he may ftay him; marry, not without the Prince be willing: for, indeed, the Watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to ftay a man against his will.

Verg. Bi'rlady, I think, it be fo.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! well, malters, good night; an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me; keep your fellow's counfels and your own, and good night; come, neighbour.

2 Watch. Well, mafters, we hear our charge; let us go fit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed.

Dogb. One word more, honeft neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the Wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to night; adieu; be vigilant, I befeech you."

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.

Enter Borachio and Conrade.

Bora. What! Conrade.

Watch. Peace, ftir not.

Bora. Conrade, I fay!

Conr. Here, man, I am at thy elbow.


Bora. Mafs, and my elbow itch'd, I thought there would a fcab follow.

Conr. I will owe thee an anfwer for that, and now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee clofe then under this pent-house, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, ptter all to thee.


Watch. Some treafon, mafters; yet ftand close.

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thoufand ducats.

Conr. Is it poffible that any villany fhould be fo dear?

Bora. Thou fhould'ft rather ask, if it were poffible any villany should be fo rich? for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.

Conr. I wonder at it.

Bora. That fhews, thou art unconfirm'd; thou knoweft, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man.

Conr. Yes, it is apparel.
Bora. I mean the fashion.

Conr. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tufh, I may as well fay, the fool's the fool; but fee'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion is ?

Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief these seven years; he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name.

Bora. Didft thou not hear fome body?

Conr. No, 'twas the vane on the house.

Bora. Seeft thou not, I fay, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the hotbloods between fourteen and five and thirty; fometimes, fashioning them like Pharao's foldiers in the reachy painting; fometimes, like the God Bel's priefts in the old church-window; fometimes, like the fhaven Hercules in the fmirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece feems as mafly as his club.

Conr. All this I see, and see, that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man; but art not thou thyfelf giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

Bora. Not fo, neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero; fhe leans me out at her mittress's Chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good-night

I tell this tale vilely-I fhould firft tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my mafter, planted and placed, and poffeffed by my mafter Don John, faw a far off in the orchard this amiable encounter.


Conr. And thought they, Margaret was Hero?

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master knew, fhe was Margaret; and partly his oaths, which firft poffeft them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any flander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; fwore, he would meet her as he was appointed next morning at the Temple, and there before the whole Congregation fhame her with what he faw o'er night, and fend her home again without a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name, stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right mafter conftable; we have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the common-wealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock.

Conr. Mafters, mafters, -


2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, warrant you.

Conr. Mafters,

1 Watch. Never fpeak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these mens bills,

(12) Conr. Mafters, Mafters,

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Conr. Mafters, never speak, we charge you, let us obey you, to go with us.] The different Regulation which I have made in this last Speech, tho' against the Authority of all the printed Copies, I flatter myself, carries its Proof with it. Conrade and Borachio are not defigned to talk abfurd Nonfenfe (that is the diftinguishing Characteristick of the Conftable and Watch.) It is evident therefore, that Conrade is attempting his own Juftificabut is interrupted in it by the Impertinence of the Men in






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Conr. A commodity in question, I warrant you: come, we'll obey you.

[Exeunt. SCENE, Hero's Apartment in Leonato's House. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Urfula.



GOOD Urfula, wake my coufin Beatrice, and defire her to rise.

Urf. I will, lady.

Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urf. Well.

Marg. Troth, I think, your other Rebato were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

Marg. By my troth, it's not fo good; and I warrant, your coufin will fay fo.

Hero. My coufin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll wear none but this.

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a moft rare fashion, i'faith. I faw the Dutchefs of Milan's that they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.


Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in refpect of yours; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with filver, fet with pearls down-fleeves, fide-sleeves and skirts, round underborne with a blueish tinfel; but for a fine, queint, graceful and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy!

Marg. 'Twill be heavier foon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee, art not asham'd?

Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me fay (faving your reverence) a husband. If bad thinking do not wrelt true fpeaking, I'll offend no body; is there any harm in the heavier for a husband? none, I think, if it be the right husband, and the right wife, otherwife 'tis light and not heavy; ask my lady Beatrice slfe, here the comes.


Enter Beatrice.

Hero. Good-morrow, coz.

Beat. Good-morrow, fweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the fick


Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you fing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels; then if your husband have ftables enough, you'll look he fhall lack no barns.

Marg. O illegitimate conftruction! I fcorn that with my heels.

Beat. "Tis almoft five o'clock, coufin; 'tis time you were ready by my troth, I am exceeding ill; hey ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horfe, or a husband?

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, if you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more failing by the star.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?

Marg, Nothing I, but God fend every one their heart's defire !

Hero. Thefe gloves the count fent me, they are an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am ftufft, coufin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and ftufft! there's goodly catching of cold.

Beat. O, God help me, God help me, how long have you profeft apprehenfion?

Marg. Ever fince you left it; doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. It is not feen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am fick.

Marg. Get you fome of this diftill'd Carduus Bene dictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'ft her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedi&tus? why Benedictus? you have fome moral in this Benedi&us.

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